Dead-or-Alive

-Chapter 6.1-

-Chapter 6.1 🌊 FIRE-

Sybil made it as far as the hatch before the blissful clatter of barrels falling out onto the deck reached her ears. They skidded back and forth with the waves, sending the pirates running around in circles. Gunfire rang out before the crew realized the ruckus was indeed caused by nothing other than their own cargo. A few younger fellows scampered after the bigger of the barrels, but only managed to trip over themselves. The Captain's disgruntled yell was her favorite part by far, "Blasted seashells! What scallywag is to blame for this shite?" At his question his eyes narrowed, the answer as clear as the two moons rising high in the night sky. "ROWLAND!"

Sybil cowered inside at Thatcher's forceful roar that surely left his throat sore for the next two fortnights or so, but Rowland being the devilish lad he was, shrugged with feigned indifference. "Something the matter Cap?"

Pulling his shoulders back, he coolly walked over to Sybil, his chin high in the air. No one made a mockery of him, especially not in front of his mates. Daring her to say another word, Thatcher stood centimeters away, glaring down at her from inches above. Sybil said not another word, but clenched her jaw indignantly. A pirate's life she knew naught of, but such a life she led and so said rules she had to succumb to. The Captain had already faced that truth and wondered whether it was a truth she too had learned. If not, what joy she was in for! Speaking in a muted tone, he leaned down and whispered his demand, "Clean it up."

She opened her mouth to retaliate, but he had never been one to let her speak her mind. "Or would ye rather swab the deck? Or scrub the hull free of barnacles come the next careening? How would ye rather earn your stay aboard me dearest Anabelle? Do try to speak up when ye answer. It is a real struggle to hear over my cargo spilling and breaking on me ship."

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Rowland dropped his façade and darling Sybil made an appearance. "Clean it up, you say?"

"Aye," he spoke, arms crossed.

Hours later Sybil crawled out of the stores, placed beneath the crew's quarters, and collapsed alongside the hammocks. The stores, the ship's storage as implied in the name, would have been lovely to know about beforehand. Now it only proved to be a miserable and taxing task she had to suffer through for the second feaking time. Worst part? No sweet, sweet revenge at the end. Only pain. Moaning, simply for the sake of making a noise to check to see if she was still alive, Sybil savored the icy floor. The room smelled of salt water, sweat, and tears, but who was she to judge? She probably smelled the same. Giving the air a quick sniff, she grimaced. It was true. The briny deep held no stank worse than the one that clung to her skin. Given time, Sybil feared it would morph into a creature so wretched sea leviathans would scream and hide.

Peeking down at the lad panting in exhaustion, Sanji quirked a brow, nestled discreetly in his hammock. Sanji had watched him haul barrels and crates, one after another, into the stores. The prank, funny as it was, was not an act Sanji ever wished to be a part of. The Captain would see him walk the plank before the sun's first ray ever pierced the darkened sky. How the lad got away with such a minor punishment was a mystery for sure. The rest of the crew remained just as puzzled. "Fine body ye've got yourself," he noted at last.

Sybil felt the urge to slap the voice's owner, but her fatigued limbs weren't having any of it. Instead, only a yelp escaped her parched lips, "What?"

He leaned his head off the side and hung his face above hers. She recognized him instantly and her face contorted into a tangle of expressions with her brows raised and scrunched together, eyes wide, nose twisted, mouth in a small 'o', and her jaw slack, so even if she wanted to close her mouth she couldn't. Sanji chuckled, his putrid breath putting her vanity's concerns to rest. Did he eat octopus for supper? Oblivious to her nose's suffering, he repeated himself elaborating as he saw fit, blowing noxious fumes her way, "Ye've a feminine air to ye, ye know? Not yet hit puberty, I've assumed. That makes ye what, fifteen? A fetching young lad. The Captain loves himself a moll, but perhaps he is keen on playing back gammon. I've known a sea rat or two who dipped their foot in the pond once or twice. Curiosity... It drives us to engage in the wildest activities. Been told by a couple that they liked it! Can ye believe it? Tell me, has the Cap had a taste of your waters?"

It wasn't until the end that Sybil began to understand what he was implying, well more directly declaring. "Ato no! Nothing of the like! Captain Thatcher took pity on me. He is helping me. He would never! No, not ever. Never would he ... He simply wouldn't," she stammered emphasizing her point with a budding red glow on her cheeks demanding a change in topic, "Besides I am twenty-three. A young guppy no more."

"Twenty-three?" he echoed, his disbelief clear.

"Aye!"

Flinging himself back onto his hammock, Sanji howled with laughter. "Blimey! I thought Ollie was underdeveloped, but ye, my good lad, have impressed me."

She scowled and found the energy to stand. Sanji continued to roll over himself as Sybil left the quarters in desperate need of peace and quiet. She only wished to shut her eyes. Up on the main deck, Sybil dragged herself over to a railing and rested her arms. Surely, she could go to bed, but something nagged at her mind. Come tomorrow and the next day and the day that would follow, aboard Anabelle she would stay. Trapped in the middle of the ocean like a prisoner in the capital, her mind would drift and drift to her father no doubt. Was he suffering? Was he waiting for her to find him? How long had he been waiting? Would she be too late? Was it already too late? So many thoughts, so much time, but never enough speed. She had to be faster. She had to grow stronger. She truly had to become the best. It was the only way.

The wind stilled as if taunting her and a sonorous splash of water rocked the ship. "Thar, she blows! It means luck is on our side!" Thatcher avowed, unexpectedly appearing by her side.

Sybil didn't miss a beat. "Nonsense, a whale is merely another sea creature. Say you see a dolphin, what then?"

"A dolphin? Don't mock, the whale is as regal as she," he praised, stroking the ship's railing.

"You are strange."

"You're one to talk."

Rolling her eyes, Sybil returned to staring at the moons' reflections in the water. Silvery undulations created a moving picture in the otherwise quiet sea that sent electric currents through her. The ripples, beautiful and strong, were more relatable to her than any human being she'd encountered. Unbreaking, merciful, both powerful and calm, but ultimately bound to the tide. The tide ruled all, sought all, and was all. To be one with the tide was to achieve peace, but to do so meant leaving everything behind. Friends, family, memories. All was the tide. All was her father. Until he was found, nothing truly was hers.

White foam coated the moons, causing her to look up to find the source of the disturbance. Ashen sails could be seen a short way away. "Whose ship is that?"

Following her gaze, the Captain's pearly whites gleamed in the dim light. "I told ye luck was on our side. Ready to try out that sword of yours again?"

A/N: I sense a scuttle in the horizon! Hopefully, I will be able to amp up the action. Any tips or suggestions would be appreciated!